


Try, Try Again

by kellifer_fic



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/pseuds/kellifer_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has been in love with Tony Stark for what feels like his whole life, but is really only since high school. A year's break and college finds Steve hopeful for a change, but Tony's still as brash, charming and beautiful as ever. It doesn't help that Tony has started noticing Steve in return. Can Steve bury his old insecurities and give Tony a chance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try, Try Again

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [If At First](https://archiveofourown.org/works/274680) by [kellifer_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/pseuds/kellifer_fic). 



> [Amazing accompanying vid](http://youtu.be/WuBZ2s1caXc) by [boom_queen](http://boom-queen.livejournal.com/)

BEFORE GAP YEAR

"I know," Steve says. "I know, I know, I _know_."

"I don't think you do, actually," Peggy says, raising a dramatic eyebrow. Steve knows it's for effect, watched her practice for hours in a mirror. He can't believe she's trying to use it on him. "I just think it would be better if you moved on."

"To what?" Steve asks, incredulous. Peggy always has this idea in her head that his life would suddenly be so much better if he _moved on_. It's her regular mantra. The problem is, even if he moved on he would still be the skinny, geeky kid he's always been. At least he's not short anymore. A totally unexpected growth spurt took care of that one. "Tell me, what glorious things am I currently missing out on because of it?"

Peggy bites her lip, eyes him for a beat too long. He would say, _ha, see, can't think of anything_ if it weren't so pathetic. "There's..." she starts gamely but then falters. Steve just stares at her, not willing to help her out, hoping that he'll finally get her to give it up already.

She does something he isn't expecting, something worse. She's _kind_ about it. "You wouldn't be such a target, you wouldn't be so _there_ for him."

It's like a punch to the gut, hearing it put that way. Steve knows he'd be able to minimise the amount of daily torture he endured if he could just stay away but he's like a moth to a flame.

He keeps on getting burned by Tony Stark.

*

Steve was never confused about liking boys over girls. He'd taken one look at Tony Stark laughing and goofing with his friends and decided then and there with the surety of the very young that he was ruined for anyone else. Tony Stark didn't exactly feel the same way most of their high school careers, seemed to take enjoyment instead out of Steve's attention by finding new and interesting ways to embarrass him.

That's what Peggy's getting at though, that Steve would probably not be such a victim if he avoided Tony altogether.

He doesn't mean to be wherever Tony Stark is, just kind of finds himself in those places, idling and waiting for a glimpse. Tony usually sees him before he spots Tony worse luck, Tony's presence heralded with a shove, a called out name, a shoulder check that almost makes him stumble.

His Nana kept telling him that _they will tire of it, these bullies, they always do_ and Steve kept waiting for that, kept waiting for Tony to just stop acknowledging him altogether, have his gaze skip past unseeing. It's like Tony's got as much of an imperative to hassle Steve as he has to be where Tony's going to be though.

Senior year and nothing's changed.

"Just think of it," Peggy says, smiling. "This time next year we'll be lounging around our college campus, being unbearably cool."

"I don't think a new school is going to fix me," Steve says because Peggy's been extolling the virtues of college for years, keeps assuring him that everything will slot neatly into place once they're there.

Steve thinks maybe he'll become more invisible but that's about all he can hope for.

"You'll see," Peggy says with a knowing look, trying to pull off imperious. "Get out from under the shadow of this school and Tony Stark and everything will be great."

Steve would like to believe her, he really would.

*

"Hey kid."

Someone grabs Steve in a head lock when he has his key in his front door. He struggles for a second but then the laugh filters through and he recognizes it and slumps. "Bucky, get off," he grumbles.

"Boy, you got _tall_ ," Bucky says, releasing Steve and stepping away. "I had to almost jump to get a hold of you."

"That's why I took the growth hormone, to make it just that little bit harder for you to noogie me," Steve says dryly, but he can't help the grin that cracks his face. He's always happy to see Bucky and Bucky knows it. He sees him less often since Bucky moved away, got all _adult_ on him with his own apartment and a uniform. "How's the force treating you?"

"Can't complain," Bucky says. He brushes invisible lint from his shoulder and smirks. He looks _good_ in a uniform, Steve would probably be able to appreciate it more if he wasn't permanently ruined by Tony.

Not that a crush on Bucky would be any more useful since when he was living across the street he would bring a different girl home every week, tell Steve it was only fair to give them all a shot.

The door opens behind Steve and his Nana pokes her head out, beams when she sees who it is. Bucky's parents hadn't exactly been around much when they were younger and Bucky had always come over to be fussed over and fed by Steve's grandmother. Steve sometimes wondered if Bucky was using him for the roast beef sandwiches.

"James," Eloise says, sounding delighted. "Get in here and give me a squeeze right this second."

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes good naturedly but Steve can see the affection that floods Bucky's face when he leans over and gathers Eloise up in his arms, is overly gentle because these days she's much more brittle. Steve follows them inside, tossing his backpack and toeing out of his sneakers.

At the kitchen table, Eloise loads them up with leftover stew, crusty rolls and then makes noises about missing her shows and tutting about how scandalous they're getting and that they're _more_ addictive because of it before disappearing into the living room.

"I don't know how you stay so skinny living here," Bucky says, cheeks stuffed and full spoon hovering near his chin. "Man, I'd be the size of a house by now."

"You are," Steve says, leans across to pinch the skin at Bucky's waist. Bucky jerks then kicks Steve under the table.

"Shut up, man. I'm svelte."

"You keep telling yourself that," Steve says with a chuckle and Bucky glares at him over his bowl. Steve's always wondered why he could be relaxed around someone like Bucky and yet turn into a blithering idiot when faced with Tony and his lacrosse buddies.

"I guess I gotta stop calling you shrimp and start calling you beanpole," Bucky muses, tearing his roll into smaller strips, ideal for scooping.

"Why do you like me?" Steve blurts, doesn't mean for it to come out so young and desperate sounding. Bucky just looks at him for a moment, frowning.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're... y'know..." Steve says, flails his hands a little, kind of at a loss how to describe it.

"Awesome?" Bucky prompts, his amused expression sobering when Steve just looks down at his nails, pulls at them which is a nervous tic he's never been able to get rid of. "Aw man, is this about that Stark kid?"

"What?" Steve's head jerks up and he can already feel his cheeks flooding with heat. "Wh-what... how..?"

"Look, Peggy told me a while ago."

"Peggy has a big mouth," Steve snaps, scowling. He feels hurt by the betrayal of his confidence, especially since he'd listened to Peggy blather on about _Bucky_ all freshman year and had never mentioned it to Bucky himself. He'd put up with her crush, silently and supportively. He doesn't know why she can't do the same.

"She's just worried," Bucky says, placatory. "You've been carrying that particular torch for a while now, kiddo."

"That's no one's business," Steve says sullenly.

"It's my business when the guy's making sport of you," Bucky says and Steve finds it hard to stay mad with the warmth of Bucky's protectiveness wrapping around him like his Nana's blanket. "I swear I should-"

"Do absolutely nothing," Steve interjects, putting a hand out to grasp Bucky's that's folded into a fist. "You're going to do _nothing_ because _he's_ done nothing."

"That's the problem though, am I right?" Bucky says, serious expression replaced with a dirty smirk and Steve rolls his eyes.

"Shut _up_ man, I really hate you sometimes."

*

There's the stump of what must have been a giant and ancient tree under the bleachers at school. It makes a natural seat and Steve will take his lunch there when Peggy's held up, not really relishing the idea of eating at a table by himself in the cafeteria.

He likes being hidden from view but still being able to hear life around him. The cheerleaders cycle through their not very extensive repertoire and he can hear the Lacrosse players on the field opposite yelling to each other.

Steve doesn't watch them, would feel like a bit of a creeper to actually sit _on_ the bleachers like he had any right to view their practice. Girlfriends, boyfriends and hangers-on gather above, unaware of him and he prefers it that way.

He goes to actual games though, can't really resist the temptation to be lost amongst a crowd and look his fill.

Usually the space under the bleachers is empty except for him but today when he ducks underneath, he sees Andrew Flecker, one of Tony's closest buddies and co-captain of the lacrosse team. Flecker has a lit cigarette clasped between first and middle finger and is holding it pointed towards Charlie Burwood’s face, the only kid in Steve’s whole year that’s actually smaller than him.

Steve must make some kind of noise because Flecker’s head whips around and his startled expression melts into a smirk. "Hey, what are you doing under here, Stunt?" Steve hates the nickname _Stunt_ , hasn't been able to shake it even though he's most definitely not _stunted_ anymore.

Steve has _no idea_ what possesses him but he says, "Maybe you shouldn't be compromising your lung capacity since you're, you know, supposed to be an _athlete_."

Flecker squints at Steve, lip curling. "You just can't be cool, can you? It's genetically impossible."

"I think I'm happy with inheriting intelligence instead," Steve says and he _really_ has no idea what he's doing. He's actually taller than Flecker now but Flecker outweighs him by a _lot_ , a compact and meaty squareness to him. He sees Flecker regularly pick up the other players and toss them around when they score.

"Are you calling me stupid?" Flecker asks slowly, pointing the lit cigarette in Steve’s direction before dropping it to grind out under his heel.

Steve supposes maybe Bucky has made him reckless, cornering him about Tony and pissing him off. He's spoiling for a fight because he can't be mad at either Bucky or Peggy and his brain keeps screaming that he's currently picking the _absolutely worst person_ to act as a surrogate but his mouth is late in getting the memo.

"If you have to ask I'm being too subtle."

Steve hasn't been in an actual real fight his entire life. He's been shoved and picked on for most of it because he's always been smaller than the other boys and they seemed to be offended by it, but they're _older_ now. Flecker isn't going to content himself with giving Steve an atomic wedgie or a swirlie.

He's going to put Steve in the hospital.

Steve has a moment of satisfaction when Flecker turns on him and Charlie is able to slink backwards, throwing a look over Flecker’s shoulder that’s a mix of grateful and apologetic. Steve knows Charlie will go for help because he’s a good guy, but Flecker only needs a few precious seconds to pound Steve into the ground and he’s going to get them.

He comes at Steve with hands clenched in fists and Steve fights the urge to scramble backwards, has this insane idea that standing firm will be better than running for it when someone else says, "Hey Fleck, didn't your momma ever tell you not to hit girls?"

Flecker snorts, grin breaking out on his face as he turns to find Tony and Clint Barton behind him. Clint's one of the few jock types to have never actively hassled Steve and he's looking worried now while Tony just looks bemused.

"I just want to hit his smirky little face, just _once_ ," Flecker says and it sounds almost like he's asking Tony's permission which is strange. Steve knew Tony was pretty much the center of his social group but he didn't think the others would actively seek his approval that way.

Steve grabs up his sketch book, thinks maybe he should retreat while they're discussing whether or not to _beat him up_ but then Tony's suddenly in his space, silent and quick. "You break something on him and there'll be more trouble than he's worth," Tony says and even though he's looking at Steve, looking _right in his eyes_ , Steve knows he's still talking to Flecker.

"C'mon man, why do you always say we can't hurt this one anyway?" Flecker demands and Steve blinks at that, frowns because Tony's expression has gone funny and tight. Without any warning, Tony reaches a hand out and smacks the sketch book Steve had been carrying out of his hands.

The ground under the bleachers is always churned up because people cut through on the way to their cars after games and Steve's book lands in a muddy patch, face down with a wet splot. Steve winces, doesn't want to look at the damage. He's had the same book for years, doodles idly whenever he has a chance. He's mended the thing with tape more times than he can count, it practically has hand grooves in the cover.

For a crazy second, Steve thinks Tony looks apologetic, but then his trademark smirk is back in place. Flecker seems mollified, backs off and joins Clint who rolls his eyes and clips him in the back of the head. Tony turns back to his friends and they go, leaving Steve alone.

He drops to one knee, unmindful of the dirty water soaking through his pants and picks the sketch book carefully up. It's no use though, no matter how careful he is, the thing basically disintegrates as soon as he touches it, water having soaked through the pages like they were made of litmus paper.

Steve stands, kicks at the mess his book has become until it's an indistinguishable lump, feels hot tears in the back of his throat that he swallows down. He dashes angrily at his eyes with his sleeve, he's not a kid anymore so he doesn't get to _cry_ about stuff like this.

For a moment he really _does_ entertain the idea of sicking Bucky onto them, getting him to pull them over in full uniform, give them the scare of their lives.

He won't, he _knows_ he won't, but it's a nice thought.

*

Steve would like nothing more than to go home and lick his wounds but he has hours before he can do that. He's making his way down to the art room because there at least he feels like no one will see him until he's calmed down a bit but Clint's loitering around the double doors leading into the studio that holds all the Senior final projects, exactly where Steve is headed.

Steve hesitates, because while Clint has never actually done anything himself, Steve has no idea why he would be there. Steve clears his throat when he gets closer and Clint startles a little, which is funny enough to almost put Steve into a better mood.

Almost.

"What is it?" he growls. He reaches down deep, finds his inner Bucky and squares his shoulders, meets Clint's gaze dead on. Clint though is ducking his head, shuffling his feet a little. He looks pained and Steve deflates to see it. He knows individually, other than Flecker of course, most of the guys on the Lacrosse team are fairly decent. It's just when they're in a group that they become a dangerous mass of one-upmanship.

"Hey, um," Clint starts, rubs the back of his head. "Look, I just wanted to say, ah, y'know, sorry about your book." The apology is given so haltingly that it takes a moment for Steve to realize that that's what it is.

"Oh, well, it's fine," Steve says automatically. His Nana always taught him that an apology, given sincerely, must be accepted. Clint looked pretty damn sincere. A tiny part of Steve kept wondering if maybe he was being set up for something but he couldn't see how this was leading anywhere.

"No, it's not," Clint says, slaps a hand against the brick wall next to the art room doors. "Flecker's an idiot and he's really going to hurt someone one day."

"Hopefully just himself," Steve says, but he knows what Clint means. Flecker's got a mean streak that's only growing worse with age.

"Look," Clint says, and now he's blushing. "Y'know Tony was just... he didn't really mean to-"

"No, it's... I don't care," Steve says, cutting off whatever justification Clint was going to offer for Tony's actions. He _really_ doesn't want to hear it. "He's never going to change. He's always just going to be a caricature of himself."

Clint gives him a funny look, kind of shakes his head and frowns. "Look, I know he comes off a little..." Clint kind of spins his hand in the air and Steve rolls his eyes.

"It's really fine," Steve says. "It's... this was nice of you to... y'know."

"Oh, right," Clint says, goes back to shuffling his feet. "I just... I know it's hard, wanting someone and not thinking you have a hope in hell."

"What the fuck?" Steve blurts, suddenly hotly embarrassed. Clint _knows_ and Steve is _mortified_.

“I know," Clint says, chewing on his lip. "No one else knows," he hurries to add. “I just... I recognize the signs. I'm in the same boat myself."

"Oh, okay," Steve says slowly.

"Anyway, I just, I wanted you to know we're not all complete dicks," Clint says and suddenly he's back to the Clint Steve is used to seeing from a distance on the field. He's smiling and bouncing on his feet, looks for all the world like they didn't just have a conversation about unrequited love and near misses with violent bullies.

"Thanks?" Steve says, a little uncertainly. Clint bobs his head, smacks Steve's shoulder and then he's gone.

Steve tries not to let the fact that Clint sought him out somewhere that no one would see them talking take away from the apology.

He understands.

*

The next few weeks pass uneventfully for Steve. He feels like everyone in the school is avoiding him barring Peggy, but that's nothing new. What's unsettling is that he's not even getting the daily dose of bullying. He's come to expect it, feels almost jittery without it, thinks he's probably really messed up if negative attention from Tony Stark is better than none at all.

He's left wondering why now, all of a sudden, Tony and the rest of his friends have decided to leave him alone. He wonders if maybe it was Clint. He was probably the second most popular guy in the school if it could be quantified that way, someone people gravitated towards. Maybe he'd said something like, _leave him alone, guy's alright_ and people _did_ , including Tony.

Maybe their little talk had some kind of knock-on effect.

He knows it's ludicrous to _resent_ Clint if that's the case. The guy probably thought he was doing Steve a favor, giving him a little peace.

Peggy notices he's stewing and what's worse is that she knows the reason why in that scarily uncanny way of hers. She looks at him with worry in her eyes and the crease of her brow.

She doesn't understand though, she never could. Peggy is smart and beautiful, she _chooses_ to hold herself apart from the crowd. Steve watches guy after guy try to tame her, try to find a way in. They all bounce right off the shield she's erected for herself but Steve knows one day that someone is going to figure it out and she'll be gone.

Steve tries not to think about it. Instead he makes plans for college, ignores the way Peggy rolls her eyes when he chooses Hamilton University because it has Stark House and the Stark Science Center. It has a good art program so he ignores her jibes and says, _like Tony's going to the place where buildings are named after him_.

He basically moves on like Peggy wanted him to, or at least, he goes through the motions of moving on and figures he'll mentally get there if he just keeps trying.

He starts thinking maybe it will work, right up until the night Tony rings him and asks for a ride home at two in the morning.

*

Steve should say a lot of things when Tony calls him, most of which have the F word in them. He should just laugh, say _good luck with that_ when Tony laments about being abandoned, drunk and alone by his buddies when the cops showed at the bar they were at and everyone had panicked.

"I don't think they _meant_ to just leave me," Tony says, a definite slur to his words, sounding uncertain and sad.

"I should leave your drunk ass in whatever gutter you've found," Steve mutters, but it's to himself and away from the mouthpiece of the phone so Tony doesn't hear him. He's _missed_ Tony is the thing, as completely desperate and pitiful as that is.

"I just... you're the first person I thought of," Tony says and it's soft, barely there, but it hits Steve in the gut all the same.

"Can you see any landmarks?" Steve finally asks, because he knows trying to get an address out of Tony in his current state will be an exercise in frustration, already knew he was going to pick Tony up.

It wasn't ever really a question.

*

When Steve arrives, Tony looks completely dejected, like a kid who's been forgotten after soccer practice.

Steve pulls up and gets out of the car. It's an old junker Steve's grandfather built himself out of spare parts and sheer determination. When Steve drives it to school, he knows the other kids laugh at it. It's not a snazzy little sports number like Tony has or even a boring but respectable hand-me-down Honda like Peggy drives. _Frankenstein_ , as he likes to call it, smokes and chokes its way to school and back, embarrassingly noisy and frustratingly reliable.

Tony watches Steve's approach blearily. He smiles when Steve gets closer and holds a hand out. Steve bypasses Tony's outstretched hand and ducks in on his other side, grabs Tony under the arm and tugs him up. He doesn't want to know what Tony's warm palm feels like, even for a second, not when it isn't shoving him aside anyway.

Tony stumbles and Steve ends up getting an arm around him anyway out of necessity before Tony knocks them both flat. Tony snorts to himself, gets his hand up and around before Steve can avoid it and pats at Steve's face clumsily. "Did you know there are a _lot_ of people with the last name of Rogers," he says.

"Did you call all of them?" Steve asks, trying not to be amused and failing. He's finding it hard to be anything but breathless with Tony's warm length pressed into him.

"Felt like it," Tony huffs.

"C'mon, let's get you home," Steve says, guides Tony around to the passenger side of the car. He leans Tony up against the back door and gets the front one open. Tony is running the knuckles of one hand over the car's roof when Steve tugs him away and then down and in, Tony falling gracelessly so he's half-sprawled over the bench seat.

Steve makes sure Tony's feet are all the way in and then hip-checks the door closed before jogging around to the other side. Tony has stretched all the way out so Steve has to poke and prod him to get him to move over enough that he can get in behind the wheel again. He then holds Tony upright long enough to get a seat belt around him and lets him go, Tony slumping into it as soon as he's released.

Steve thinks Tony's passed out until ten minutes later when Tony's hand drifts into his line of sight. Steve bats it away, says, "Hey, watch it, I'm driving."

"I know that," Tony says. "Stop."

"The car?" Steve asks, then grimaces. "Aw man, are you going to be sick?" Steve doesn't wait for Tony's answer, just swings onto the soft shoulder of the road, pulls up under the cover of a tree. When he kills the engine and looks, he's not expecting Tony to just be sitting there, smiling at him. "What?"

Tony lunges at him. Steve automatically puts his hands up, expecting a hit but then Tony makes a disgruntled noise and Steve peeks out from between his fingers, sees Tony struggling with the seatbelt that's halted his progress across the seat. Tony finally looks up at him, frowning. "Little help?"

"You going to hit me?"

"What? No," Tony says, frowning harder.

"Okay, fine," Steve sighs, reaches across and undoes Tony's belt. Tony immediately shuffles across the seat at him again but this time Steve just waits, still flinches when Tony puts a hand up but all he does is bump his knuckles gently against Steve's cheekbone.

"Hi," he says, nonsensically.

"Hi?" Steve parrots back at him, feeling a little thrown by Tony's proximity. Tony leans in, gets close enough that his face is just an blurry smudge and then they're kissing, messy and hesitant.

Steve jerks away, more surprised than anything else. Tony makes that disgruntled noise again, gets a hand up and around so his palm is resting on Steve's nape. "What... what are you..?" Steve starts to ask.

"I thought that would be painfully obvious," Tony says, dirty smile in place as he tugs Steve to meet him, pushes open Steve's mouth with his tongue. Steve gets the taste of alcohol and smoke, breathes in too fast and chokes on it. He backs up again but there's nowhere to go, he's already wedged against the car door, handle pressing painfully into the middle of his spine.

Tony blinks at him, color flooding his cheeks. "Sorry, I thought you wanted... oh god, I'm a jerk, right?" Tony says, sounds hurt and embarrassed. He starts sliding away and that isn't what Steve wants at all. It's just taking him a moment for his brain to catch up to the proceedings, get with the program.

"Wait, sorry, you just startled me," Steve says, which sounds ridiculous, but Tony's stopped moving, turns back around when Steve finally gets his traitorous body to obey commands and manages to fist Tony's shirt at the shoulder, tugging. Tony smiles, reaches out both arms and links them around Steve's waist, tugs up and over till Steve is straddling him.

Steve, for once, is glad his car is such a giant monster of a thing that they have room to maneuver in the front seat.

Steve's had dreams like this, he thinks dizzily as Tony gets a hand tangled in the hair on his forehead, curls Steve down to him. The kiss this time is no less messy but more _certain_ now, both of them intent. Steve licks into Tony's mouth this time, the alcohol and smoke taste mostly gone and instead it's just warm, wet and unbelievable.

Tony's looking up at him as Steve wrenches away to catch his breath. He's hard and as he rocks slowly forward, he can feel that Tony is too. Tony's eyes roll back and his grip on Steve's sides tightens almost painfully, nails digging half-moon bruises that Steve only _hopes_ will last until he can look at them, see the evidence.

Tony slides sideways until he's mostly prone with Steve over him, propping himself on shaking arms. Tony's grinning, flushed. He thumbs Steve's lower lip, pushes the digit inside and Steve takes it, licks around the nail and bites gently.

Tony moans, an almost broken sound and Steve knows what he needs, what he wants to do. He starts edging backwards down Tony's body. Tony makes a noise of protest but Steve just grins up at him, pushes Tony's shirt up and away to bite at the hip bone above Tony's belt. He gets Tony's belt open, feels Tony's fingers push through his hair again as he gets the pants open.

Tony's cock is pushed against the fabric of his boxers. Steve only has to tug just the slightest bit for the head to be over the waistband. Steve takes a moment to stare at the wet tip, wet his lips and then lean down to lick it.

He's tentative, probably frustratingly so given how Tony's hands land on his shoulders and squeeze hard. Steve feels goose flesh break out all over his body at the contact, decides to hell with it and pushes Tony's underwear out of the way and sinks down.

Tony lets out a grunt, muffled like he's got his mouth pressed against something. One of his hands is gone and when Steve risks a look up, he can see Tony's biting the heel of his palm. Steve thought he was hard before, but now his dick jerks at the sight, that _he's_ doing that.

He's getting used to the salty tang of Tony, tries to find a rhythm but knows he's probably failing. He just hopes that a messy, uncoordinated first timer blow job is still a good blow job, or at least _enough_ but he thinks he must be doing okay from the way Tony's hips are thrusting shallowly and he's making these little _uh uh uh_ noises.

Steve's getting lost in it when Tony's hand smacks into his forehead. Steve pulls back, feels heat flood his face at the obscene wet sound his mouth makes when it releases. "Sorry, just... I'm gonna-" Tony gets out, sounding absolutely _ruined_ with it. Steve understands, gets a hand around Tony and jerks, made easy with his saliva.

Tony comes in Steve's fist with a broken grunt and a full-body shudder. Steve feels so close himself, knows if he so much as brushes his dick he's going to explode with it. He leans up instead, wants to get his mouth back on Tony's but he pauses before he can. Tony has one arm flung over his face, is breathing deep and even.

Steve just stares for a moment, disbelieving.

Tony's asleep.

*

Tony's house is _huge_. Steve knew it was going to be but he hadn't really imagined just how big. He thinks about propping Tony up against the door and making a run for it after he rings the ornate looking bell but figures that's probably pretty childish.

The man who answers the door looks resigned rather than surprised when he takes in Steve with Tony slung awkwardly across him. Steve knows this isn't Tony's dad, has seen pictures of Howard Stark in the papers. He figures it's an honest to god _butler_ which is just insane.

"You'd better bring him inside," the man says with an English accent.

"Tony's feeling under the weather," Steve says lamely and the man arches an eyebrow.

"I'll bet," he says dryly, holding the door open and moving out of the way so Steve can try to herd Tony in. He'd roused somewhat when they'd gone past the large and imposing front gates, enough to punch in the entry code and now enough so that he's not exactly a dead weight.

Steve hands Tony over and he smiles groggily up at the man, says, "Jarvis, s'nice to see you."

"As always, sir," Jarvis says, with an eye roll and an easy affection that makes Steve like him immensely.

"I've had a weird night," Tony says and Steve takes that opportunity to slip out the door. He's almost to the car when he hears someone call out behind him.

Steve turns to see Jarvis approaching. He shoots his cuffs, adjusts his tie and Steve wonders at a man fully dressed like that at four in the morning. "I just wanted to thank you for seeing Mr. Stark home," Jarvis says.

"Oh, right. No problem."

"I thought I knew all of his friends. I haven't seen you before...?"

Jarvis leaves it open, waiting for a name and Steve feels a sudden tension in his gut, just wants to escape. He can still taste Tony on his tongue, he's still half-hard and just wants to go home and have a cold shower. "No, I haven't been before," Steve says.

Jarvis just looks at him for a moment before he nods. "Alright then, good morning."

"Uh, yeah, you too," Steve says. Before he goes, he weakens and turns back from his car, says, "Hey, um, can you tell Tony to call me when he's... when he feels better?" he asks, wants to take it back as soon as he says it.

"Of course," Jarvis says, offers a slight nod that would look ridiculous on most people but just appears courteous on him.

*

Tony doesn't call.

Steve tries to find it in himself to be surprised but he really isn't.

The rest of the school year rushes by in a blur. Steve sees Tony from a distance, if at all. Peggy's concerned look changes into something deeper but then everything ceases to matter because Steve's grandmother gets sick and he doesn't have time for anything else.

"I'll take a gap year, it'll be fine," Steve promises when he's helping Peggy pack. She's looking sad, eyes damp, chewing her bottom lip.

"People _say_ that, but then they never do."

"I swear, I'll be there next year," Steve promises, even though he can't be sure. "It'll be..." _easier this way_ he nearly says, but doesn't, catches the words behind his teeth before it's too late.

AFTER GAP YEAR

"No."

"No what?" Steve asks but he knows perfectly well no what by Peggy's expression and he grimaces and tears his eyes away from-

"No to Tony Stark. A million times no."

"But-"

"I thought I was tortured by your protein shakes, endless chin-ups and five in the morning runs so you could kick sand in his face or something, not stare moonily at the back of his head."

"There's no sand. Why would there be sand?" Steve asks, turning back to Peggy and giving her a pout that usually has her handing over her pudding cup. She's not about to be swayed though when it comes to Tony.

"You missed out on precious time with me, I've been without you for a _year_ so you could be beyond all this."

"He hasn't even noticed anyway," Steve grunts and Peggy's eyes narrow in a dangerous way.

"Do not tell me that Tony is what this has all been about all along," she says slowly.

"It's not," Steve says and he doesn't even believe himself so Peggy certainly doesn't.

"That guy made your misery his personal goal all through high school. He pantsed you in front of the entire student body. I humored your destructive crush because I thought someday you would see sense and grow out of it." She makes a frustrated gesture at the, admittedly, much larger entirety of Steve's being. "Not grow into it."

"This isn't high school," Steve says. "I'm not going to make the same mistake."

"You think Tony's going to be different, don't you?" Peggy demands.

"He might be," Steve manages to get out in a small voice. "People change and it's been a while." He watches Tony from across the food hall, the way he throws his head back and laughs at the stunning red haired girl he's sitting with while she shakes her head and looks fondly exasperated.

"Oh my god, I love you, I really do but you can be so dense. You think he's really going to be less of an ass at the place where there are buildings named after his family?" When Steve just stares at his hands, Peggy reaches across and takes one of them. "Hon, you're not shallow enough to be happy about it if he starts treating you differently now anyway, right?"

"Right," Steve finally huffs, although again, doesn't really believe himself.

"What up, losers?" Darcy asks, plopping into the seat next to Peggy. Darcy was someone Peggy had met at the beginning of the previous year during Steve's break and Steve tries not to feel petulantly territorial about his friend. Darcy's cool, quirky and seems to like _him_ so he's going to give her a chance, if grudgingly.

After all, Peggy's allowed to have more than just him as a friend at school. She's not the giant loser who only has the one.

*

Steve had nearly laughed when he'd gotten his dorm assignment. _Stark House_ had been written in black and white on the letter in his welcome packet, mocking him. It wasn't enough that Hamilton University was where Tony went but Steve had to also live in a building named after his family.

He wouldn't have any luck at all if it weren't for the bad kind.

It was the only college close enough to his Nana with a decent enough arts program to make it worthwhile even going. He'd thought about ranging further out, but his Nana, even though she'd rallied, was still pretty frail and he wanted to be able to get to her if she needed him in a decent amount of time.

He knows he doesn't have that much time left with her and he owes her after she and his grandfather took him in without question when his parents died. They gave up the precious few years they'd had left to spend alone together to make room in their lives for him.

Steve was pleasantly surprised to find he had a single. He was extremely lucky. There was a roommate that never showed and even though the housing office kept telling him not to get used to it, that someone else would be assigned, they hadn't appeared yet.

He wouldn't get used to it but he would enjoy it while it lasted. It also meant Peggy had somewhere to escape to when her roommate had her girlfriend over and hung a sock on the door to warn her off. "Do girls actually do that?" Steve had asked, surprised.

"Have girlfriends?" Peggy had asked with a raised eyebrow and Steve had rolled his eyes.

Peggy is in his room now, sprawled across the spare bed on her stomach, ridiculously large and imposing book open in front of her and feet waving in the air. "I met Pepper," she says, apropos of nothing.

"Who?" Steve asks, tucking a pencil into the side of his mouth so he can smudge some lines he's made. He's drawing Peggy, he loves the drape of her, how relaxed she is. She's forever scrunching up her nose when she looks at his sketches of her, says _I don't look like that, you're idealizing me_ and he always huffs at her fondly.

She's someone who is actually, genuinely unaware of how beautiful she is and if Steve were straight he would be in trouble.

"Pepper," Peggy says, like repeating the name is going to magically enable Steve to know who she's talking about. Steve's Nana does that to him all the time, tells him long rambling stories about people he's never heard of. Half the time he finds out they're actually characters on one of the television shows she likes but she details their exploits like they're people she actually knows.

When Steve just stares at her blankly, Peggy huffs. "She's..." Peggy casts about for a moment, like she's unsure how to describe the woman. "She's _me_ for Tony."

" _What_?"

"She's Tony's me," Peggy repeats, nonsensically. "She introduced herself because she had concerns. We've had a meeting of the minds."

"Should I be worried?"

"Not at all," Peggy says with a grin. "She's lovely, really. She works at the little gallery in town. I met her when I went to buy a frame for that picture you gave me."

"I didn't give you a picture," Steve says with a frown.

"Sorry, did I say _give_? I meant the picture I _rescued_ from the _trash_ that was breathtaking and you threw out because you're a crazy person with absolutely no taste."

"I tend to agree with you about the taste thing," Steve says dryly. "How else would I have ended up with a friend like you?"

"Meh, you love me and would be lost without me," Peggy scoffs and Steve's silent because the only other response he could have to that would be mushy agreement. He doesn't like rewarding her when she's in this kind of mood.

"So, Pepper's nice?" Steve says. He doesn't mean to be fishing for information about Tony's girlfriend but he can't help himself. Tony had dated indiscriminately through high school, whoever took his fancy for a week to a month, rarely more than that. The people he dated tended to be vapid and pretty but if the girl he was with now was more along the lines of someone that Peggy could see herself being friends with, then chances are it wasn't someone Tony would cast aside.

"Oh my god, you're so transparent," Peggy groans, rolling over and dropping a pillow on her face. "She's not his _girlfriend_ , Jesus, Steve."

"Sorry, force of habit," Steve says, frowning. He knows how ridiculous it is to be infatuated with someone after all this time, especially someone who doesn't give a shit about him. Steve needs to meet someone else, someone _not_ Tony Stark but he's yet to find anyone that measures up.

He needs to stop using Tony Stark as his barometer against whom all other men are measured.

"You're coming to the British Lion with me tonight," Peggy announces, swinging upright and off the bed. "You need a _life_ Steve Rogers, even if I have to force it on you."

*

“Him? Ooh, how about that one?”

Steve sighs, grabs Darcy’s hand to stop her pointing across the crowded bar. “You can’t just pick one out for me.”

“Why not?” Darcy complains. “I have excellent taste in gay men. It’s the straight ones I can’t figure out.” Peggy’s laughing into her soda and Steve pinches her on the arm.

“Ow, dammit, Rogers,” Peggy snorts. “I need the bathroom.”

“That means according to girl-law, I also must go,” Darcy says very solemnly, leaving Steve blessedly alone for a few minutes to nurse his coke and lament his life choices.

He’s watching the crowd, wishing he’d brought a pad and pencil so he had something to do with his hands when a voice says behind him, “Steve? Steve Rogers?” When Steve turns around, he’s looking at Clint Barton. “Hey, it _is_ you,” Clint says, grinning. He catches Steve by surprise by hooking an arm around him and clapping him firmly on the back. Steve returns the embrace awkwardly.

“Clint, hi,” he says as Clint steps back, smiling, looking genuinely pleased.

“I wasn’t sure it was you. Man, you been eating your spinach or what?” Clint gives him what Steve swears is an appreciative once-over and Steve feels his cheeks heat under Clint’s gaze.

“Something like that,” Steve says. “Got tired of all those stiff breezes pushing me over.”

Clint laughs, shaking his head. Steve can see Darcy and Peggy over Clint’s shoulder. Darcy’s giving Steve an enthusiastic thumbs up and Peggy’s trying to steer her to another table. She tosses Steve an eyebrow waggle over her shoulder though. “Do you go here?” Steve asks.

“Nah, just visiting,” Clint says. “I heard you dropped off the map.”

“I had to take a year. Family emergency,” Steve says and Clint nods, sympathetic but not pressing for details.

A guy slides up to them, hooks a possessive arm across Clint’s shoulder. “Who’s this then?” he asks and Steve blinks.

“Phil Coulson?” he says in surprise. He remembers Phil from school. Editor of the school paper, on the debate team, _most likely to succeed_ . Phil squints at him, bristle replaced by confusion and then he’s patting at his pockets. Steve sees out of the corner of his eye Clint roll his eyes and pull a pair of glasses from his own jacket pocket, turn under Phil’s arm so he can slide them on Phil’s face. 

“You left them on the side table again,” he says, sounding fond. “What do you do when I’m not here, eh?”

“Stumble around blindly and pretend I know who the hell I’m talking to,” Phil says, equally fond. He then switches his attention back to Steve and does a double-take. “Oh my god, Rogers?”

“I know, insane right?” Clint says. Phil still has his arm across Clint’s shoulders and Steve can’t help but stare at them. He could’ve sworn their paths would never have crossed back in high school and here they are, _together_.

Steve tries not to let the little stab of jealousy he feels show on his face.

Phil ignores Clint’s comment, offers the hand not holding Clint’s side and Steve shakes. “Good to see you. Are you going to Hamilton?”

“Yeah, I had a year off though,” Steve says. Darcy and Peggy bustle back over, obviously having figured out that they wouldn’t be interrupting anything and now curious. Clint and Phil greet Peggy warmly, Phil not as surprised to see her, must have spotted her on campus previously. Darcy and Clint hit it off immediately, abandoning the small group to play darts shortly after, Darcy dubious enough about Clint’s professed marksmanship that he has to demonstrate.

Peggy disappears when she spots someone she knows and then it’s Steve and Phil sharing a table. “It’s been a while,” Steve says. “You look good.” Phil does. He’s filled out some since school, not as much as Steve himself but there’s muscle definition going on. He also looks more... settled into himself. He’s got a quiet confidence and relaxed charm that Steve always liked.

“You too,” Phil says. “I got a little worried when from across the room it looked like my boyfriend was being chatted up by a Hilfiger model.”

“Please,” Steve huffs, dismissive.

“I just... sometimes I’m just waiting for him to realize...” Phil says, something far-off in his face as his eyes track to Clint. Steve follows his gaze, sees Clint say something to Darcy and then throw a dart, careless, easy grace in his movements. It hits, dead center of course and he holds his arms up in triumph, does a little victory bump and grind with his hips that has Darcy in hysterics.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle.

Phil kind of blinks, shakes his head. “What? Oh, nothing,” he says quickly, the moment broken when Peggy reappears with a heaped bowl of wings and a dish of cheese that she pushes onto the table. Clint appears at Phil’s side, eyes gleaming and Phil lets his knees fall open so Clint can push into the space between them, closer to the table, making grabby hands at the wings.

The night passes in a pleasant blur, Steve a little shocked when Clint insists they all get together again when he’s in town next and Phil putting his number into Steve’s phone after extracting a promise for lunch the following Wednesday. Clint and Phil hug him warmly when it’s time to separate and Steve watches them go, hands held loosely and Clint tipping his head towards Phil as they walk.

“Oh my god, they are the cutest ever,” Darcy gushes, dancing in front of them as he, Peggy and Darcy make their way back to the dorms. Peggy just hooks her arm through Steve’s, looks up at him with a sleepy smile and Steve smiles back.

*

Steve’s feeling pretty good the next morning, thinks maybe he’s finally stopped being truly pathetic and is getting on with his life. He has a duffel load of laundry over one shoulder, is headed to his Nana’s to put a load through before he’s reduced to recycling through his underwear.

He’s _totally_ unprepared to bump into Tony fucking Stark is what it basically boils down to.

“Oh hello,” Tony says, blinking in surprise, but not the same kind that Clint had seeing Steve when he wasn’t expecting to. Tony looks... furtive is the best way to describe it. “Fancy seeing you here,” he adds, his face doing a funny, twitching thing.

“Hi,” Steve says after what he hopes isn’t a weirdly long pause. Tony’s kind of blocking his way, swaying side to side in the hall like he can’t stand still. “Did you... were you looking for someone?” Steve finally asks as Tony flicks his gaze around at anything except Steve.

“Oh, I live here,” Tony says. His tone is oddly formal, like he’s trying for light but missing. Steve’s more surprised at his words though.

“You live here? Don’t you have mansions or something?” he asks, because Tony Stark doesn’t exactly scream _dorm-life_.

Tony’s face makes another weird expression, then he’s agreeing and _listing the mansions_. Steve just watches him, struck with the suddenly uncomfortable thought that maybe Tony is being _polite_ , that he knows Steve is familiar but has no idea who he actually is. Tony ends his rambling by saying something about not wanting to live somewhere that was his dad’s.

"Isn't this place pretty much your dad's though?" Steve asks, suddenly feeling the compulsion to be mean, to put a little distance between them. If this is the only interaction he’s going to have with Tony Stark in college, he doesn’t want Tony walking away thinking, _oh yeah, he’s that weird, desperate kid that followed me around and he’s still the same._ "Y'know, since it's Stark House. He would have paid for it if his name is on the building."

“Oh well, yeah I guess,” Tony says, looking a little deflated and Steve knows he needs to escape before he does something regrettable, say like apologize for being an ass and then beg for Tony to remember him, to _please remember who the fuck he is_.

“Anyway, I have to...” Steve suddenly remembers the duffle of washing, knows he’s got an excuse that doesn’t look like he’s just running away with his tail between his legs. They awkwardly shuffle around each other and then Steve can hear someone say, “Oh hey, Tony!” and Steve takes the opportunity to run.

*

“I in _no way_ wish to get your hopes up about Tony Stark of all people, but he knows who you are, believe me,” Peggy says, poking him in the forehead with her pen. She’s trying to get him to move but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to again. His Nana had sent him back to the dorms with a plate full of her special cookies that he’d proceeded to eat all of. He was now in a sugar coma and couldn’t move to save his life. “I can’t believe you didn’t leave even _one_ of your Nana’s cookies for me, that’s just cruel, Rogers,” she adds, huffily.

“I needed all of them to drown my sorrows. The little buggers are resilient,” Steve says, then what Peggy said filters through his sugar haze and he manages to roll over, his stomach gurgling unhappily. “Wait, what?”

“I said, you could have left me one eensy, weensy-“

“No, the other thing,” Steve says, impatiently.

Peggy rolls her eyes, sticks the pen she was poking him with behind her ear. “Tony thinks you hate him and he’s all... depressed about it.”

“Why would he...” Steve tugs at his lower lip, thinks back to their stilted conversation and how stiff he must have come off. “I just thought he didn’t recognize me.”

Peggy pulls a face, like what she’s about to say really pains her. “He’s... the way Pepper talks about him, I might’ve been wrong about his capacity to change, to become less of a douchebag.”

“Are you trying to give me some weird kind of blessing?” Steve asks, amused. Peggy punches him in the belly and he curls around himself, groaning. “Oh god, don’t, unless you really do want some of my Nana’s cookies.”

“Ew,” Peggy says, scurrying backwards, probably wary of any kind of blast zone. “And no, I still think he’s terrible for you.”

“I don’t think you have to worry,” Steve says. He’s been nursing his childhood crush for a long while, he’s starting to think maybe it _is_ time to give it up. Seeing Clint and Phil, how comfortable and _right_ they were together, he wants that, wants to find someone that’ll fit like pieces of a puzzle coming together. He rubs at his nose, gives Peggy a lopsided grin.

“Was just never meant to be, I guess.”

*

“It’s a party in your own dorm, you don’t even have to technically leave your house,” Darcy wheedles, gripping his hand and tugging it.

“I’m not really into parties,” Steve says.

“Haven’t you ever been to one of-“ Darcy cuts herself off, his expression obviously telling her something he doesn’t want her to know. Her hand is pressing against her chest like an old Hollywood starlet expressing shock. “Haven’t you ever been to a party?” she asks.

“When I was smaller. You know, the ones where the parents made the kids invite the whole class,” Steve says, kind of pulls another face that has Darcy’s eyes practically brimming with tears.

“That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” Darcy whimpers. She wraps both arms around his waist, tries with her whole body to get him to shift. “Now you definitely have to come.”

“Really, it’s not my thing,” Steve says, prying her arms from around him, but giving her a squeeze before he does. She’s really grown on him, he’s surprised by how much.

“But going to the library instead? Ugh, it’s too depressing.”

“I can’t stay here, my furniture is practically vibrating across the room,” he says and it’s true. The party’s on the floor above and the music is so loud that Steve can _feel_ it as well as hear it through the walls and floors. “Peggy’s already up there. Go have fun, young person.”

“You sure?” Darcy says, but Steve can tell she’s already mentally scurrying towards the party, even if her body is lingering.

“Yes, go. Be responsible, don’t let a stranger give you a drink and don’t take any candy with lettering on it.”

“You’re like the oldest twenty year old ever,” Darcy says. She’s dawdling out the door when she throws over her shoulder, like an afterthought. “Oh so, do you think that Bruce guy might be up there?”

Steve frowns at her for a moment, before the name clicks. She’s talking about the guy from his floor that looks like he’s in his thirties, doing some kind of insane multiple doctorate or something and still living in a dorm. “Bruce _Banner_ , really?” he says, eyebrows rising.

“Hey, don’t judge. He’s just got a sexy professor thing going.”

“Ugh, don’t say stuff like that to me,” Steve protests. “I’ll be thinking about it when I pass him in the hall.” Darcy’s embarrassed, for the first time Steve’s ever seen so far as he knows so he takes pity on her. “I think I saw him head up about an hour ago.”

“Great, bye!” she says, disappearing in a swirl of dress and scarf and Steve shakes his head, chuckling. Darcy’s pretty great and that Bruce guy kind of deserves a break considering he’s stuck rooming with Thor who keeps putting up petitions about making the dorm nudist friendly.

*

Steve’s had time to get comfortable and have his sketch pad out when someone clears their throat and then promptly falls face-first over a table in front of him in the library.

It’s Tony.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, snapping his pad shut and rushing over to Tony to help him to his feet. Tony’s swaying, has to put a hand on a chair to stay steady when Steve tentatively lets his hands drop.

Tony mumbles something soddenly that sounds like, “Fine, how’re you?”

“You’re wasted,” Steve observes, winces a little when it sounds like he’s being judgemental. He looks around, expecting other drunken people to have been dragged along in Tony’s wake, but Tony’s alone. “What are you doing here?”

“Cametoseeyouwhydoyouhateme?” Tony says, words mushed together. He’s swaying, squinting at Steve and waiting for an answer, something soft and vulnerable in his expression.

Steve starts to say, “I don’t-” but Tony cuts him off with a long, loud and rather smelly burp right in his face. Tony looks hilariously mortified.

“Oh my god, I’m an ass. Just kick me under the table and forget you ever saw me,” Tony blathers, looking so adorably defeated that Steve can’t help the swell of affection that blooms within him. He knows where the night went the last time he helped a drunken Tony Stark out but he’s matured since then and besides, he’s getting over it, finally putting it behind him. What better way to prove it than to help Tony home like a good _friend_ would.

He will definitely resist the urge to give him a blowjob on the way home unlike the last time.

“Let’s take you somewhere to sleep off whatever’s happening here,” Steve offers, gets an arm around Tony because he really looks like he’s about to keel over again. Tony immediately drops his head on Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s grateful that Tony smells _terrible_ so he can’t enjoy it.

Much.

“My room’s full of drunk people,” Tony whines, warm breath puffing against Steve’s neck.

Great.

“We’ll figure something out,” Steve sighs, resigned. Tony goes to take one step, misses his footing and Steve has to catch him. He doesn’t really want to drag Tony all the way back to Stark House so he steels himself and then gets a shoulder under Tony, hefts upwards, Tony a limp rag doll of a man over his shoulder.

“Oh my god, this is very nice,” Tony says muzzily and before Steve can ask him what he’s talking about, Tony’s hands fit to Steve’s ass, patting it.

Steve shakes his head, amused despite himself. “Thanks, I work out.”

*

Steve thinks about taking Tony back to his own room, but the party is still going strong and besides, Steve wants to put Tony somewhere he can check he’s still breathing every hour or so. Tony chatters groggily the whole way to Steve’s room, his words running together so Steve can’t really make them out. He doesn’t want to when occasionally he hears, “You’re so.... even when you weren’t... I really... why do you have to be...”

Steve can imagine what words are missing from Tony’s diatribe. Boring, straight-laced, stiff.

He dumps Tony on his bed when he reaches his room, pulls his blanket over him after taking off his shoes and socks. Tony kind of burbles and protests, then relaxes. “This smells nice. Soooooft,” Tony sighs, rolling until he’s well and truly burritoed himself.

“Just don’t throw up on that,” Steve warns. “It’s my Nana’s blanket.”

Steve spends an uncomfortable night in his desk chair, listening to Tony snore wetly. Steve’s actually starting to doze, head held up by his hand, when the sounds of Tony coming awake start. Tony rustles around for a few minutes and Steve gives him that time to get his bearings, work out where he is before he says, “Do you need to throw up?”

There’s a pause like Tony’s thinking about it. “Nah, I think I’m good.” He’s sitting up and rubbing a hand through his hair which sets it sticking up in all different directions before he gets his feet on the floor. Steve tries not to stare at Tony so soft and vulnerable looking, squinting around the room. When his gaze finally settles back on Steve he says, “Hey, thanks for making sure I didn’t die in my own puke last night.”

“Any time,” Steve says before he thinks better of it, feels a stupid blush heat his cheeks and possibly the tips of his ears but Tony’s just smiling at him sleepily and Steve can’t help but smile back.

“So, how did I end up with you?” Tony asks and Steve feels his smile freeze on his face. A tiny, obviously delusional part of Steve had started wondering if maybe Tony had sought him out, even left his own party for the express purpose of finding Steve. Tony looking so confused about his current _predicament_ puts paid to that. He’d obviously stumbled into the library at random, run into _Steve_ by chance.

“You were drunk I guess,” Steve says stiffly.

Tony’s still messing around on the bed, rubs his face on Steve’s blanket that he’s still wrapped in. “Sorry if I said anything weird,” he says absently.

“S’fine,” Steve says, takes a deep breathe and _decides_ that he’s not going to let all this bother him. He was doing well, Tony has no idea what he does to Steve so Steve can’t really blame him for it. He’s made a decision to move on and he’s got to do it. He just needs to treat this night like a setback, a little hiccup in his Get Over Tony Stark plan. He decides to be the bigger man, offers, “You want me to walk you back to your room so it doesn't look like you're doing a walk of shame?”

“I’m probably karmically due,” Tony huffs, rolling his eyes and gets up, kicks his socks aside and steps into his shoes without them before offering Steve a little salute and making for the door. Before he steps out, he pauses, says, “Mornin!” to someone brightly, then he’s gone.

Steve blinks, then groans when Peggy’s head appears around his door frame, her eyes wide and shocked.

*

It’s the kind of day that needs his Nana’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes. He gathers a few assorted odds and ends to wash and heads over. He grabs Tony’s socks on impulse, it bothers him probably an unreasonable amount that they’re grey instead of white and have holes in the toes.

He blames his Nana for being so finicky.

“I know that look,” his Nana says when she greets him at the door, grabs him by the shirt and tugs him down so she can lay a big, smacking kiss on his forehead. “I haven’t seen it since you were mooning over that Stark boy.”

“Nana,” Steve grumbles, lets her put brittle arms around his middle to squeeze him.

“You’re wasting away to nothing in that school, do they not feed you?” she huffs, hands darting to his ribs and Steve curls away, laughing helplessly.

“Ugh, quit it,” he says but he lets her herd him over to the kitchen table and set a plate in front of him piled high. He demolishes the lot, rubs his stomach when it feels tight and uncomfortable. His Nana’s watching him from the other chair when he finishes, her eyes as bright and alert as ever. Steve makes his way to the laundry room, starts loading under his Nana’s ever watchful gaze.

“Is it another boy?” his Nana asks, obviously done trying to wait him out.

Steve leans fists on the washing machine, scowls at the cold-hot buttons. “Nah, same one.”

“Oh sweetheart,” she says. “That boy has brought you nothing but heartache.” She looks thoughtful for a second. “You still never explained how he turned you green that one time.”

“I’m moving on. There’s a point where it all becomes pathetic.” Steve wishes he sounded more convincing to his own ears.

“You’ve got your daddy’s heart. He decided he wanted your mother and nothing would dissuade him, not even her.” His Nana looks at him for a minute more before she smiles, lines carving deep in her face. “Besides, your Grandpa and I didn’t raise a quitter.”

*

Steve knows he should toss Tony’s socks into the nearest garbage can but Tony had left his room clad in his Nana’s blanket, the last thing she’d been able to knit before the arthritis really set into her hands and he’s determined to get it back. He clutches the socks, thinks it’s a good enough excuse as any.

Steve has to knock for about ten minutes before there’s the sound of movement. He only persists because the white board tacked to Tony’s door has a message that says, _yes, he’s inside and please feel free to wake him_. It’s the kind of thing that Peggy would do to _him_ so Steve figures Pepper is to blame.

Tony looks about as bad as Steve was expecting when he finally cracks the door open and looks distrustfully out. His hair is flattened down and his eyes are red-rimmed. It’s kind of... nice to see Tony so human, so bleary. Tony opens the door, in obvious invitation but Steve hesitates, mostly because he sees from his position that there is an actual mirror above Tony’s bed which is so terrible and cliche that it makes Steve’s resolve to just get the hell over himself and Tony Stark a little firmer.

“Don’t you go to class?” Steve asks, amused by the idea that Tony has just buried himself for the day without emerging.

“Rarely.” Tony seems equally amused by the idea that he _would_. Steve feels a thread of annoyance at that. Tony’s obviously someone that skates through life, never having to try.

“Yet, perfect grades I’m assuming?”

“Of course.” Tony fusses with the shirt he’s wearing for a moment, overlong sleeves hiding his hands. “I’m one of those rare people that can actually give one hundred and ten percent.” Tony crosses to the desk in his room, lowers himself into his chair like an old man. The silence stretches, becomes a little awkward and Steve reflexively closes his fist, feels the socks in his grip and remembers one of the reasons for his errand. He can see his blanket tossed across the end of Tony’s bed carelessly and it pisses him off a little.

He holds the socks out, decides he’s going to offer a trade and then beat a dignified retreat. “Um, anyway, I have...” Steve waggles the socks, watches Tony squint at his hand before levering himself back up off the chair with a groan. Tony takes the bundle, goes to toss them aside but pauses, blinking.

“Hey, weren’t these gray?”

Steve wonders if maybe Tony’s socks were discoloured long enough that he didn’t even remember the original color. “They weren’t supposed to be.”

“Did you actually wash these?” he asks, and there’s something in Tony’s tone that makes Steve’s hackles rise. He’s smirking, the way he used to in high school. “Did you do _laundry_ for me?”

Steve feels like he’s time-travelled back to when he was sixteen, awkward and eternally humiliated when faced with Tony and his special brand of rough and rude charm. He feels off-kilter and so very, very stupid. "I didn't do laundry for _you_. I was doing laundry and I tossed your socks in too because they were about to get up and walk out of my room by themselves, probably flipping me off for good measure considering who they belong to."

The problem is, Steve can hear what he’s saying and it sounds completely lame.

"Didn't these have holes in them? Oh my god, Steve, _you darned my socks_?"

Scratch that. When _Tony_ says it out loud is when Steve wants the world to open up and swallow him down. "It would've driven me crazy, alright?" Steve sounds annoyingly shrill to his own ears and Tony is just _staring_ at him, kind of the same way he did right before he knocked Steve’s sketch book out of his hands and into the mud. "Look, sorry, I thought you were done being a jerk to me, but obviously not.”

Steve retreats to the sound of Tony’s damning silence.

*

Steve decides to try and burn off some of the nervous energy he's been functioning on for the past few days when he gets back to his room, so pulls on running shorts and a shirt, unearths his iPod from a pile of papers and swings his door back open.

He's not expecting Tony to be standing on the other side, hand raised like he was just going to knock and bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

"What is it now?" Steve asks, weary. He's not strong enough to resist Tony's stupid face, his stupid goatee, his stupid _everything_.

"Um, here." Tony pretty much shoves Steve's blanket into his arms, then looks a little bereft when he doesn't have anything to occupy his hands anymore. He reaches up and tugs at the lip he was chewing, straightens his shirt, checks his nails. Steve watches this all in tired fascination because Tony is obviously working up to something but Steve just isn't in the mood for a carefully phrased let down.

"Thanks, now-" he starts before Tony can say anything but Tony barrels through his words like Steve speaking unlocked his voice.

"Can I take you to dinner? And yes, I'm asking you out on a date so there's no confusion."

For a second, Steve's hopes soar. He'd actually pictured this very thing thousands of times when back in high school, Tony realizing the error of his ways, the folly in dating everyone but him. He can believe for just the barest moment that stuff like this really happens, that his impossibly handsome, rich and ridiculously charming crush will turn up at his door, metaphorical hat in hand and ask for a chance.

Just as quickly, one word occurs to Steve that derails these thoughts.

Sympathy.

Tony feels sorry for him, feels bad for Steve jumping through the hoops he didn't even realize he was holding. Steve wonders if it was Peggy or Pepper that kicked Tony in the ass, marched him to Steve's door and glared at him until he knocked.

Before Steve can politely decline, Tony adds, "Anywhere you want, you don't even have to tell me where before. You can even come pick me up so you're not left waiting around like some teenage girl."

Tony's standing with his fists clenched, face expectant. There's something open and vulnerable in his expression, so much so that Steve decided that even if Tony was put up to this by well-meaning girls, he deserves to be given a break.

"Okay," Steve says, then inspiration hits. "If you come running with me first."

Tony had been Captain of the lacrosse team, but Steve remembered him complaining bitterly about having to run laps of the high school sports field, that he was only built for short bursts of speed and any sustained running was like torture.

If Tony really, genuinely wants to take Steve out, then he's going to have to work for it.

"I don't run," Tony says flatly. "It's..." Something in Steve's expression must tell Tony he's on dangerous ground because he adds quickly, "Okay, alright. Just let me get changed."

"Cool," Steve says. "See you out front in five."

*

Steve feels bad enough about Tony nearly _dying_ halfway through his normal route that he agrees to dinner. The fact that Tony claimed to be having a stroke really sealed the deal because Steve might've had some issues to work out but he hadn't meant to kill Tony.

That would totally be against his own interests.

He calls Peggy for help in what he should wear because she's always telling him that left to his own devices, he'll die a sad lonely figure mostly because of his sartorial choices, immediately regrets it when Peggy hangs up on him because she's heading over and apparently dragging Darcy along.

"I just wish you had a better dressed roommate whose wardrobe we could raid," Darcy laments, eying the entire contents of Steve's closet that she'd tossed out onto his bed like it's personally offending her. "Even Bruce dresses better than this and... it's _Bruce_. He always looks like he's wearing whatever stuck to him when he rolled around on his floor."

"It's nice you guys are far enough along in your relationship that you can insult his clothes."

"I know, right?" Darcy says, ignoring Steve's sarcasm and beaming at him.

"Where's your date jeans?" Peggy demands, shouldering Darcy aside.

"I don't have date jeans, do I?" Steve asks, scrunching up his face.

"I _bought_ you date jeans," Peggy says and digs down into the pile of clothing until she does indeed pry free jeans that Steve doesn't ever remember seeing. They're black and they look _way_ too small for him.

"You've been holding out," Darcy accuses, eyes narrowed. "These might actually do your ass the justice it deserves."

"Did you really buy me _date_ jeans and sneak them into my closet?" Steve groans, a hand clamped over his eyes.

"What can I say? I'm an optimist," Peggy says, unrepentant.

"You're incorrigible."

"To-may-to, to-mah-to."

"Just put these on, Rogers. Do the world a favor."

"I don't have a shirt to go with... no, right, of course you _bought_ me a date shirt too," Steve says when Peggy throws a button-down that's also unfamiliar at his head.

For all his grumbling, Steve is ridiculously glad that Peggy did what she did when Tony turns up at his door an hour later and his eyes roam from Steve's head to his toes and then twice more, a salacious grin on his face. If anything, he's only nervous that he might be underdressed because Tony looks about as GQ as he normally does.

Tony surprises him by steering him towards the Student Union building on campus. It's a Wednesday and they show old movies for a dollar. Steve had been meaning to go, always intrigued but hadn't gotten around to it. The movie quality is pretty bad, the sound is in turns ear splitting and too low and the popcorn is stale but Steve has a great time.

"I thought you might take me somewhere they'd need to lend me a jacket," Steve confesses as they sprawl on the large cushions that are provided by the group running the movies.

"Nah," Tony huffs, then ducks his head and even though it's dark Steve would like to think that Tony's smiling when their hands meet in the terrible popcorn.

*

Steve is uncharacteristically bold when Tony walks him back to his room, making a crack about _seeing a lady home_ that Steve socks Tony in the arm for. Steve tugs Tony inside his room and pushes him up against the door, kissing hesitantly but becoming more urgent when Tony makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat that has nothing at all to do with sympathy.

Tony herds Steve backwards to the bed, Steve tugging Tony after him when Tony nudges him down. Steve can feel himself blushing but forgets to be embarrassed about it because Tony is smiling at him in this fascinated, dopey way that Steve could get very used to.

Steve reminds himself to buy Peggy loads of thank you flowers and procure for her all the Nana cookies she could eat when Tony's hands find their way to Steve's _date_ jeans clad ass and he makes another pleased, burring noise that vibrates through the skin of Steve's throat where his lips are pressed.

"I haven't done this... much," Steve admits, because Tony is nipping at and sucking all these places that make Steve's toes curl and he knows that he won't be as skillful.

"Are we... we can slow down... if you need?" Tony offers, although his roaming hands and mouth show no signs of slowing.

"No, it's just, I mean... just that once," Steve says, hates how bare and vulnerable he's making himself with that admission, that Tony will know just how much power he has over Steve.

"You've only been with one guy?" Tony asks and for a blessed few moments, Steve thinks he's _joking_ , that he's playing dumb to lighten the mood. "Hey, what's...?"

"Yeah, just the one guy," Steve says.

"Someone I know?" Tony asks.

"That's not funny."

"I'm not... what's happening here?" Tony asks and suddenly Steve _gets it_ , like a punch to the gut.

Tony has no idea what he's talking about.

"Oh my god, you don't remember," Steve moans, mortified.

"Remember what?" Tony says, frowning and Steve's suddenly thrown back to high school, all the times Tony went out of his way to shove him around, how much worse it was when he _didn't_ , when he just plain ignored Steve. He tries to tell himself that it doesn't matter, that the past is the past and they have a chance for a fresh start here but he just can't let it go.

He's that kid standing underneath the bleachers, sketchbook in the mud and heart in his throat all over again.

"I just thought it was... I thought you were... oh my god, all this time you didn't even-" Steve can't _blame_ Tony for not remembering, but what happened had meant _so much_ to him, the aftermath where Tony just started ignoring him meaning even more and he'd always thought that Tony had just been embarrassed or worse, completely bored but to not remember at all, to have simply stopped acknowledging Steve as a human being for no good reason...

"Steve, help me out here. Complete sentences, c'mon, you can do it." Tony's rising from the bed right after Steve scrambles out from underneath him.

"I'm such an idiot," Steve hisses, appalled at himself, having put so much stock in something that meant so little. He herds Tony out of his room, Tony taken by such surprise that he just goes, doesn't even argue until Steve has closed the door in his face.

"Steve, what the hell?" Tony yells at the closed door, thumping it from the other side when Steve turns the lock. Steve knows if he can still hear Tony then he'll just open that door right up again, will be the same insecure boy begging for any scrap of attention so he boots his computer up, hits play on his running music mix which is loud and thumping and just what he needs to drown Tony out.

Despite the music, Steve still hears Tony's parting shot. "You're a crazy person, I hope you and your right hand have a nice life together!"

*

The next morning, Steve feels completely stupid. He's got his phone in his hand, ready to ring Tony and apologize, maybe even explain why he freaked out, but the phone startles him by ringing in his hand. Steve's heart jackhammers, thinking maybe it's Tony but the caller ID says that it's a private number so he answers with a tentative, "Hello?"

Steve listens as the kindly-voiced woman on the other end of the phone tells him about how his Nana had a fall, how the neighbour who regularly checks on her found her. Steve doesn't really hear anything else as he struggles into pants and jams his feet into his boots, only demands to know where she is, which hospital before he hangs up and heads out of the door.

*

Steve's still at his Nana's place a week later when his Aunt Cathy arrives. She's only a few years older than he is, a definite surprise birth for his mother's parents who'd thought their child-rearing days were well and truly over.

They sit down to coffee, make small talk and Steve tells her how his Nana's iron levels were dangerously low because she hadn't been eating properly. It had affected her balance and altered her mental state to such a degree that she'd fallen out of bed and hadn't been able to get back up again.

Cathy worries at a chain around her neck, fingers toying with the crucifix before she blurts, "We want her to come and live with us, in Florida."

Steve's first instinct is to say no, that his Nana loves her house and won't want to leave it. "She's getting better. I'm making sure she's eating properly and she's almost-"

"She had a cold that turned into a flu and because she felt sick she stopped eating. There was no one here when she fell." Cathy's face softens when Steve flinches. "Honey, I'm _not_ blaming you. This is long overdue."

"I can stay here. I can look after her."

"It's just me and Darryl and I'm not working. You have school."

"I've already started the paperwork to drop the semester. I can drop out completely and go back-"

"No. _Steve_ , I've already talked to Nana. She's agreed."

"Of course she would agree," Steve snaps. "She agreed because you told her otherwise I wouldn't go to school, right?"

"Steve, I know you're always going to see her as invincible but she's scared to live on her own now."

"I said I could stay here. Her and Grandpa gave up a lot to look after me. It's my turn."

"You gave up a lot too," Cathy says, something fierce in her eyes. "I should've taken you. I wish I had."

"You were nineteen. From the stories Darryl tells, you could hardly look after yourself," Steve says and Cathy snorts, rolls her eyes.

"Let me do this," Cathy says. "You might feel like it's your turn but it's not, it's mine."

"I don't..." Steve worries his lip between his teeth, torn. He feels _selfish_ to be thinking about going back to school. He gave up a year and it was hard to go back, but he could do it again.

"You said you've already started working on dropping the semester. You could do that, you and Nana could stay here till next semester, spend some quality time. We'll come down and pack everything up after and you can go back to school." Cathy reaches for his hand, squeezes it hard. "Let me do this, please."

*

Steve's mowing the front lawn when Tony just _appears_ practically in front of him.

"Christ, warn a guy!" Steve blurts. He reaches down to turn off the mower and then mops his brow with the shirt he'd tucked into his pocket before slinging it over his shoulder. "Wasn't expecting to see you."

Steve hadn't heard a word from Tony at all since he'd left school. He'd been planning to ring Tony but after the first few days, he'd started thinking that maybe this was the universe's way of telling him to finally get a clue. He hadn't expected Tony to just turn up at his Nana's and planned to have a very stern talk with Peggy about just how Tony managed to turn up without warning.

"I aim to be unpredictable," Tony says and he's so infuriatingly endearing that Steve almost smiles at him, catches it just in time.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asks, because it's a long way to travel for Tony to tell him that he's a crazy person again or perhaps make fun of him for being an inexperienced loser.

"When a guy throws me out of his room when I think we're having a perfectly nice time, I tend to want to know why." From the words, Steve thinks Tony is angry but his tone is mostly confused.

"Happen to you a lot?" Steve can't help but ask, finds himself smiling despite his best intentions.

"Stevie! Are you finished dear?" his Nana calls from the porch, almost rolls his eyes at the way she's looking pointedly between Tony and himself. His Nana is many things but subtle has never been one of them.

"Not quite, Nana," he says because he's obviously only half-done and his Nana's eyesight is perfectly fine.

"Who's your friend?" she asks, now just being plain blatant.

"This is Tony. He was just leaving," Steve says as he pulls his shirt back on.

"Nonsense. Bring him inside. I made roast beef sandwiches."

"Nana, I don’t think-"

"Roast beef is my favorite," Tony says in this completely ingratiating way and slides past Steve, waggling his eyebrows.

"Eloise," his Nana tells Tony and Tony smiles, big and charming. Steve follows them into the house, feeling well and truly ganged up on and not liking it one bit.

*

"What are you doing here?" Steve asks again around his own sandwich. He might've been peeved but he wasn't going to say no to roast beef with thick-cut tomatoes and the bread his Nana had only made that morning, snapping at him that she was perfectly capable when he told her she shouldn't be on her feet so much.

“I wanted to try and offer a blanket apology," Tony says.

"If you don’t know what you’re apologizing for-" Steve starts to say but cuts himself off when Tony just throws his hands up and slumps back in his chair.

"I _don’t_ know what I’m apologizing for! That’s the whole problem. If I knew what happened that night-"

Steve feels his face heat, knows he's going to have to have a very different kind of chat with Peggy if Tony knows that his problem was about the night he'd given Tony's drunk ass a ride home. Peggy knew something had happened that night but Steve had never told her specifics, not embarrassed exactly but more tentative, the whole night a fragile thing in his memory that, if handled too roughly, might collapse.

"No, you don’t have to apologize for what happened that night," Steve finally decides on as a response because Tony doesn't. He might not remember it but Steve does and it's a night he's dwelled on often, sometimes with a hand wrapped around himself when he was alone. "That’s... you don’t have to for that."

"Now I really need to know," Tony says, plaintive. "Can we... do you want to go for a drive?" Tony asks after he's watched Steve polish off his entire glass of lemonade while trying to think of something to say.

Steve nods, leads Tony outside and heads for Tony's car but Tony catches his shirt, tugs until Steve is turned around and facing his old junker. "That... does it drive still?"

"Um, sure?" Steve says because that car would probably become a resting place for wildlife, have a tree grow up through the center of it and _still_ start. When they're both in the car, Steve looks at Tony. "Where to?"

"Just... somewhere else. You know this area better than me."

*

Steve takes Tony to the part of Woodlawn that his Nana calls the _seedy_ side. It’s mostly abandoned houses and stores with boarded over windows. It’s barren but quiet and Steve turns the engine off, swivels in the seat so he can see Tony, watch his profile. “Look, you don’t have to apologise for high school stuff. That’s my own stupid hang up.”

Steve’s waiting for Tony to say something, anything but instead Tony just reaches for him, has this strange little wry twist to his mouth before he reels Steve to him. In between awkward as hell kisses, because this might be a monster of a car but it’s still a _car_ with inconveniently placed steering wheel and gear shift, Tony is mumbling apologies but not about the past, or not about _that_ part of their past.

Instead keeps mumbling over and over again, _I should’ve done this sooner_.

Steve’s brain offlines for a little while because the hot press of Tony’s mouth makes it hard to form coherent thought, but when he’s able to gather his wits enough, he reaches behind and to the side where the seat release lever is. He yanks it and Tony lets out a bark of startled laughter as the bench seat sags backwards and clicks into place resting against the back seat.

“Jesus, what kind of car is this.” Tony is still chuckling, arms looped around Steve in a warm way.

“I think you called it the _Losermobile_ ,” Steve says and when Tony groans and smacks a hand to his face, Steve pokes him in the belly. “No, it’s... I’m not going to make you apologise for the rest of our lives, sorry.”

Steve feels his cheeks heat when he realizes what he’s just said, how casually _rest of our lives_ slipped out of him like it’s a forgone conclusion. Before he can be too mortified, try to find a way to backpedal, Tony is grinning again, affectionate and a little dopey. “Good, because I plan to make so much amends that you’ll forget you were ever mad at me, that I ever mistreated you,” he says against Steve’s mouth, biting at his lips, licking at his teeth.

Steve breaks free of Tony’s mouth and ignores the sounds of protest Tony makes at the loss of contact because he has other ideas, likes the way Tony’s noises devolve into something baser when he works his way down Tony’s body. When he reaches Tony’s jeans and pulls them open, reaches inside, he meets nothing but skin, has to talk because otherwise he might really embarrass himself with how hot that is. “Commando, really? You’re so classy.”

“Laundry service was late,” Tony says, the last word a bitten off moan as Steve wastes no more time, slips his mouth over the tips of Tony’s cock, rubs his tongue on the underside and puts an arm over Tony’s hips when Tony abortively tries to thrust before his fingers are skating across Steve’s forehead and up into his hair, patting in apology.

Steve would make fun of how fast he gets Tony off with his mouth if Tony didn’t just immediately turn the tables and seem to make it his mission to bring Steve off even faster, Steve not able to even get his pants undone the whole way, Tony’s grin infectious and devious.

“If you’re trying to blot my horrible high school memories out of my brain with orgasms then... well done, keep going," Steve says, trying not to laugh.

"Don’t worry, that’s part of the plan," Tony says. "There’ll also be ridiculous gifts and swish dinners and me calling you honey banana in front of our friends."

"Um, yay?" Steve says uncertainly and then they’re both dissolving into giggles, the car warm and close and their bodies slung around each other in a way that Steve could get very used to, hopes he never has to do without.

*

"This one?"

"I'm starting to get the feeling that Phil will be angry at me for watching this," Clint says, sitting with his knees folded under him on Steve's bed. Steve's been trying on different shirts, he and Tony giving the date thing another go, hopefully with a better outcome.

Steve huffs a laugh as he pulls the shirt off that he'd just put on. Clint kind of dry swallows and says, " _Really_ angry."

"Don't front," Steve says and when Clint pulls a smirky, amused face at him he rolls his eyes. "I really can't use phrases like that, right? Tony keeps telling me."

"You're more of a _oh gosh and darn_ kinda guy," Clint agrees.

"Anyway, Phil knows you're devoted. It's kinda sickening actually."

"You're one to talk," Clint huffs.

"Well, all relationships need at least one person head over heels, right?" Steve says, then blinks at Clint when a pair of rolled up socks bounces off his forehead.

"Dude, _c'mon_. I know thinly veiled insecurity when I hear it."

"Clint," Steve groans but Clint stands up, sorting through the growing pile of discarded shirts on Steve's desk chair until he comes up with the very first one Steve tried on and then rejected. Clint tosses it to Steve and raises his eyebrows.

"Tony Stark is stupid over you. I thought you would have figured that out by now."

"It's not... I know Tony likes me okay? I don't doubt that." Steve can feel his cheeks heat faintly at the memory of the previous days activities. The car, the lingering kisses on his Nana's porch and Tony refusing to leave until Steve had agreed to a do-over date the next night.

"You do though. Man, no matter how many times I tell Phil, he gets that same look sometimes, like he's waiting for me to realize I've made a mistake or something but it's not going to happen."

"That's you guys," Steve says, pulling the shirt on.

"We're _uncomfortably_ similar," Clint says. "It's like looking at a playback of mine and Phil's relationship, including the whole thing where Phil didn't realize that I'd had a massive crush on him in high school too."

"Tony didn't-"

"Uh, yeah, trust me, he did," Clint says and Steve's mouth unhinges, a little shocked.

"What?" he splutters.

"You remember that conversation we had, about unrequited love?" When Steve nods, Clint says, "I wasn't talking about you having a crush on Tony, dummy. I was talking about Tony having a crush on _you_. I was trying to explain his dickish behaviour without breaking a bro confidence."

"Oh, well, um?" Steve's a little, no, a _lot_ lost for words.

"Don't ruin this by thinking your relationship is one-sided because it isn't," Clint says, smiles when his phone bleeps, the smile getting warm and a little secret when he takes a look, no doubt something from Phil. He tucks his phone back in his pocket, straightens Steve's shirt on his shoulders and pats him. "Don't let Tony push you away because he's a dumbass and will try when he gets scared about how much he cares."

"You're scaring me with this Dear Abby stuff," Steve says and Clint cuffs him on the back of his head when Steve turns at the sound of the doorbell.

His Nana pops her head in and grins at Steve. "Your young man is here."

"Thanks, Nana," he says.

 _His_.

He likes the sound of that.


End file.
